Not Enough
by BruisesX
Summary: Jeff wished that he had the drugs to help him right now. Anything was better than letting him self-destruct.


Jeff wished that he had the drugs to help him right now. Anything was better than letting him self-destruct. Within two hours Jeff had chain smoked through a packet of cigarettes that were full when he started.

Every other superstar was in their hotel room watching TV, sleeping or down at the gym preparing for their next match. Jeff was sitting in the bathroom of his hotel room with the door locked at his knees hugged to his chest.

After his match tonight (which he won) everything just caught up with him. Everything from the dye in his hair to the paint on his face. People used to think that Jeff was hiding behind that paint but now Jeff found himself _trying_ to hide behind the paint.

The Rainbow-Haired Warrior wasn't his cheery self anymore. He couldn't be found writing lyrics or listening to _Marilyn Manson_ or doing a painting. All that Jeff did was show up for wrestling each day and then go back to his hotel room and cry about everything that was wrong with him.

Two months after Jeff started feeling this way, he stopped dyeing his hair. It was previously red and orange but now it had faded out to a yucky worn out orange colour; it almost looked like rust.

People kept telling Jeff that he needed to dye it again; even Matt had brought it up once or twice. The younger Hardy assured everyone that he would dye his hair whenever he had time to. Almost a year later Jeff hadn't even bothered to bleach his roots; the ends were still that rusty colour.

By the one year mark, people started talking about Jeff. His co-workers, news reporters, even Jeff's family was in on what was happening to him. People thought that Jeff started using drugs again. Jeff wished that he had started using again, then at least he'd have something to blame for feeling this way.

The company began giving Jeff more interesting story lines in hopes of miraculously lifting his spirits but it didn't work. Jeff acted happy in front of fans and gave his all when in matches but he still felt as if he was dying on the inside.

It seemed that Jeff's brightly painted face seemed to fool a lot of people into thinking that he was alright. Jeff liked that; he wanted people to think that he was alright while his insides were trying to eat themselves out of his body.

Jeff looked at the mirror in front of him with a hand placed on either side of the basin. The paint had washed off his face and you could see visible lines from where the tears had left his eyes and trickled down his face.

He actually felt like he was going to break. Jeff contemplated smashing his fist into the mirror so that he couldn't be reminded of how much of a failure he was but it wasn't worth all the hassle that it would cause.

Gripping the strands of hair on his head, Jeff tugged as tears flowed down his face freely and his back slid down against the door of the bathroom.

He just couldn't take it anymore. Everything was just crashing down on him at once and Jeff didn't know how to deal with it. Unlike all previous times, Jeff couldn't just find his drug stash and forget about his problems for a few hours.

Jeff only had to call a number that was almost programmed into his mind to get his fix but Jeff knew that right now he wouldn't be able to deal with the repercussions if someone found out.

The nail-polish on Jeff's fingernails had almost chipped off completely. _Maybe I'll paint my nails and dye my hair tomorrow, that'll stop people from asking me about it,_ Jeff thought.

All that Jeff wanted was to get everyone off his case. They all kept questioning him and talking about him when they thought he couldn't hear them in the next room over.

They talked about trying to help him get better and who was going to room with him every time they changed hotels. It's like they expected that Jeff was going to relapse.

Jeff knew that they were just looking out for him but he wasn't a baby anymore. He didn't need looking after, he was a grown man and he could take care of himself. People have bad days, right? So maybe Jeff was just having a bad day 365 days in a row.

There was a knock at the door. Jeff had locked the door. Right.

"Who is it?" Jeff called out, sounding as happy as he possibly could with tears running down his cheeks.

"Me, Punk," The voice replied from the other side. "I need to use the toilet."

"Right...I'll be out in a minute."

Jeff quickly grabbed a face towel and wet it, removing all the paint from his face. Sighing, Jeff ran his fingertips through his rust-coloured hair and then smiled at himself in the wasn't happy with himself but at least he could pretend that he was.

Punk and Jeff exchanged nods as Jeff left the room and Punk entered. Jeff walked straight to his bed and laid down, facing the roof.

As Punk did what he had to do in the toilet he couldn't help but notice the blue watered-down dots that were sitting in a pile on the floor near the mirror. They were the same blue as the paint that Jeff had on for his match earlier today. At first Punk thought they were little splashes from when Jeff washed his paint off but something wasn't right.

After washing his hands, Punk walked out of the bathroom and looked at Jeff. His eyes were closed and he was lying down in his bed. Punk heard Jeff sigh. It was at this point that the straight-edge superstar realized that there was something going on in his friend's head and the wasn't telling anyone about.


End file.
